Sorin Thorinson
by OnyxWritter
Summary: [Father / Son Relationship][NO SLASH] Missives have been sent to every Dwarven, Mannish and Elven Kingdom surrounding Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains. Asking for aid in locating a young Longbeard Dwarrow, barely out of tweenhood, who was last seen defending a Jewel Merchant's entourage from Gondor to Ered Luin but came under siege by a large company of Orcs and Wild-Men after cross
1. Disclaimer & Summary

***WARNING***

The following material contains crude, vulgar language _(which may be unsuitable for some viewers_ ), dark humor, triggers ( _experiences that may cause untoward and uncontrollable emotional responses for some viewers_ ), suggestive adult situations and graphic content. Savage violence and graphic inhumane punishments are present throughout the material.

 ** _Viewer discretion is advised._**

 **-LINE BREAK-**

*I do not support violence of any kind nor do I promote such cruel acts of punishments to be acted upon. Inhumane actions and punishments are things I do not support nor promote. The following story is ** _fictional_** , **_dark_** and for **_mature audiences._** *

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **Disclaimer**

I do not own "The Hobbit Trilogy", nor do I own "The Lord of the Rings Trilogy". J.R.R. Tolkien does.

All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, except the few I have created for this Fan-Fiction. The plot-twists also belong to me.

No part of this Fan-Fiction publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from me.

 **Copyright © 2018 by OnyxWritter. All Rights Reserved.**

 **Summary**

Missives have been sent to every Dwarven, Mannish and Elven Kingdom surrounding Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains. Asking for aid in locating a young Longbeard Dwarrow, barely out of tweenhood, who was last seen defending a Jewel Merchant's entourage from Gondor to Ered Luin but came under siege by a large company of Orcs and Wild-Men after crossing into Far Chetwood. Last known whereabouts for the missing young Dwarrow is theorized to be in-between the Eastern Bree-Fields and the Archet region.

According to reports from the surviving band of Dwarves and the Merchant's entourage, Sorin of the Longbeards, 40 (with the appearance of a Man in his 20's), led a successful defense against the attacking force with little damage to his troops. The first wave of Orcs and Wild-Men seemed more focused on snatching the women and the young. While leading a small convoy to creating a path for the women and young to escape, young Sorin, was caught in an ambush cutting off his escape route in reuniting with his remaining forces. With the limited amount of warriors young Sorin had, more than half of the attacking force was annihilated. Weary and injured, the remaining convoy was taken either for sport or food.

Believed to be dead, a crippled Mercenary confirmed the survival of Sorin, who is believed to be captive of Orcs and Wild-Men. From his last reckonings, the Wild-Men had decreed using Sorin for a more malevolent purpose and proceeded to argue on journeying ahead towards the Weather Hills, which are known to be infested with unsavory folk and cruel passions.

A flier has been sent out with the missives containing further descriptions and details of young Sorin of the Longbeards, on the morn of _Foreyule_ (Nov. 21st) with the Messengers. The Dwarves of Ered Luin are searching for any information on the missing young Dwarrow.

Sorin is described as a handsome Dwarven Male, 5'2" tall, and 150 pounds, with raven black hair, subtle stubble and deep-sapphire eyes. The young Dwarrow was last seen wearing a sky-blue tunic, black-leather breeches and light chain-mail beneath a heavy ash-grey, fur-lined coat.

Any persons with relevant information on his whereabouts is encouraged to notify the Rangers of the North and scouting Dwarven Companies within the next immediate area.

Promise of payment upon concrete information, identity and proof of life.

-The Longbeards of Ered Luin


	2. Chapter 1- Rumor Has It

***WARNING***

The following material contains crude, vulgar language _(which may be unsuitable for some viewers_ ), dark humor, triggers ( _experiences that may cause untoward and uncontrollable emotional responses for some viewers_ ), suggestive adult situations and graphic content. Savage violence and graphic inhumane punishments are present throughout the material.

 ** _Viewer discretion is advised._**

 **ARC 1**

 **-§-**

 **Chapter 1 – Rumor Has It…**

 ***Excerpts from "The Hobbit" By J.R.R. Tolkien in this chapter. All credit goes to him. View Disclaimer & Summary Section.***

It was a well-kept secret. Only a hand-picked few knew of the underground networks running through Ered Luin. Dark and narrow tunnels outlining a series of tomb-like indentations within the rock walls themselves. The tunnels wind haphazardly and all keening cries become muffled to the unsuspecting inhabitants a mere chamber above.

Nori slowly ambles through the tunnels, idly running a calloused finger across the surface of a throwing knife, humming softly away beneath the oppressing shadows. Whimpers reached his ears as he passed by the open tomb-like indentations along the narrow path he tread. Coming to a stop in-front of a small chamber eight feet long and six feet wide which held four shivering lumps of flesh.

"Good morning. Have my friends treated you well?" Nori asked soothingly while kneeling in front of them. Silence met his inquiry, he hummed seemingly deep in thought before he twirled his throwing knife and held it against the throat of one of the slumped over figures. The whimpers started up again, louder and filled with bone-chilling fear. Nori kept an analytical eye on the three figures to his right, folding in on themselves to make themselves smaller. Shoulder blades harshly protruded beneath their ashen skin, stretching to the point where bones could rip through.

"I hear you were on the attacking force that ambushed the Jewel Merchant Caravan traveling from Gondor five years ago. I also heard, you where one of the few who captured a young Dwarrow by the name of Sorin of the Longbeards… Could you please describe what happened?"

It was a small movement that alerted him of the prisoners tensing to his line of interrogation. _'They're all familiar with it. This session promises to be very interesting. I wonder, how much more would I need to push for them to break?'_

"Please? Tell me what happened and all will be well." Nori encouraged the trembling man to his left. "W-We w-w-where o-ordered t-t-to c-capture t-t-the h-h-heir." A raspy, hoarse voice answered him. From his right a chastising hiss ripped through the more strong-willed men. Nori chose to focus on the weak link before him, eyes narrowed dangerously from the information. _'No one outside the direct Line of Durin and close family ties knew who Sorin was. Or who sired him._ ' Suspicion slowly crept through his spine as the implications of such a breach in security could affect not only the lives of the Durin's but what torment that vital bit of information meant for…Sorin. Nori carefully caressed the trembling man's face with the tip of his throwing knife, similar to what a new young-mother would do to her newborn, he murmured sweet nothing's. Hiding the savage rage brimming beneath his soothing exterior. Nori was about to continue with his line of questioning when out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the closest chained men, strike out and cave in the side of the trembling man's temple with his manacle. Instantly, the Dwarfish metal work crushed the temporal bone beneath the skin, impaling large pieces of bone against the living tissue beneath. Bright blood squirted outwards coating Nori's face and drenching the now-lifeless body with its taunting vitality.

Turning seething eyes towards the perpetrator, Nori pulled a hidden long-knife from under his sleeve and with an unforgiving downward stroke, sliced through flesh, muscle, sinew and bone. Effectively separating the filth's right arm from his torso. Immediately after, yowls of anguish serenaded Nori's eardrums. Sending a pleasant, tingling warmth coursing through his raging veins. With every breath, the stump burst with thick rivulets of blood caking the walls and stone floor with it. Shouts of the remaining men were aimed at both Nori and his victim, each reaching higher peaks of hysteria as Nori leaned down and tied of the stump with thin mithril rope.

Tears of immense pain coursed through the sobbing man's dirt-streaked face, gaze blurred nearing the bliss of unconsciousness.

"After that little stunt, do you truly believe I will allow you the comforts of losing consciousness?" Nori tutted in mock disappointment before rising and calling out, "Bifur! Send a runner for Oin and gather the new 'toys'. We've got a wild one!" Sneering viciously, eyes alight with dark glee, Nori leaned down making sure to maintain eye-contact with the self-proclaimed leader of the group.

"When you attacked your fellow compatriot, you knowingly became my new play-thing. Now, let's continue our little discussion while we wait for my 'toys' yes?" Nori grabbed the man's chin harshly, making sure he dug his nails in deeply, drawing blood from the semi-crescent punctures.

"When your group attacked Sorin, where did you take him?" The man, in one last show of defiance spit onto Nori's face. Sneering lecherously and tightening his grip on the man's chin, Nori slams the man's disheveled head against the rock wall.

The clattering of metal against metal reached Nori's ears as Bifur walked in closely followed by a scowling Oin. "Help me dislodge this filth from the manacles and place him in the middle of the chamber tied up with our 'toys'." Nori ordered before signing in Inglsihmek, _"_ _They know who Sorin is. They know where he was taken."_

Immediately Bifur and Oin moved forward. Cries of protest met their efforts, but true to Dwarfish stubbornness and resilience, the leader of the group was hung from his wrist and elbow (the stump limb), each limb hanging down heavily from an iron ball. His legs where held down by two massive iron balls as both Nori and Bifur pulled chains (through a series of intricate rings surrounding the wall) causing the whimpering man to stretch painfully horizontally from all limbs. Blood continued to drip sluggishly down the man's quivering frame. The man's only support came from a sharpened white-hot spear head which continuously burnt the man's lower back until the small chamber was filled with the scent of charred flesh.

"I will repeat this once more, where did your kind take Sorin?" Nori inched forward, roughly pulling the man's hair to pull his slumped head upwards, meeting his seething eyes.

Ragged breathing, was the only response he received.

"Master Oin, please feel for his pulse and notify us to the filth's extent for pain before he losses consciousness." While Nori spoke, he motioned for Bifur to begin pulling the chains once again.

Screams quickly filtered through the space, the remaining men pulling desperately at their manacles trying to escape their approaching fate. For three consecutive hours the man was stretched until his limbs loudly dislodged themselves from their sockets and colored into a wickedly purple-green beneath the skin. Over the course of each hour, Nori will continuously interrogate the man on Sorin's whereabouts. Oin will periodically force the man to open his mouth and drink fomentations that increase awareness and heart rate.

"When you ambushed Sorin, where did you take him?" Nori asked again, holding the man's sweat soaked face between his bloodied palms.

Motioning to Bifur to grip the chains once again, the man hurriedly rasped, "Weather Hill…H-he wanted th-the dwarf. A-a-s a gift…" Nori's grip tightened, causing the man to shake uncontrollably.

"Who gave the order?"

"Orc Captain Yazneg…" the man breathed, "tribute for…Bolg son of Azog" he finished breathlessly.

Bifur's sudden intake of breath caused Nori to startle out of his shock. The Defiler…The Defiler's son….Mahal grant us mercy for we have need of it…

Oin's face lost all color, as Bifur began ranting and throwing tools against the rock walls, bellowing in absolutely rage. Meanwhile , Nori was furiously thinking over how an Orc Captain, of all things, figured whom Sorin was… _'Orcs are no intelligent creatures, they follow never strategize and specifically target. Something….or someone must have leaked the information….but who? Who could have cause…?'_ Nori trailed off as realization shone in his dark eyes.

Slapping the man's pallid cheek, Nori dragged the man to semi-consciousness.

"Who gave the information to Yazneg?" The man struggled to speak as blood continued to spill out from between his lips. Breathing harshly he whispered, "Orocarni" before a hacking coughing fit coursed through him. Wheezing in distress, Nori watched with cold eyes, as the man slowly drowned in his own blood. All the while struggling to remember why the name "Orocarni" was familiar to him.

Nori glanced over his shoulder towards Oin and Bifur searching their expressions for any familiarity at the name, coming up with none Nori moved towards the two cowering men in the corner of the room.

"Who is Orocarni? Where in Weather Hill is Sorin?" he demanded.

Furious Nori picked the dark haired man up and slammed him against the wall. The dark haired male jerked away, panicking dull green eyes blown and crazed. "ANSWER ME" Nori growled. The male shook his head 'no' vigorously. Nori wrapped his large hand around a bony throat and proceeded to jam his throwing knife between the man's lips. Chipping at teeth and cutting deep gashes across his tongue and upper mouth cavity. At the sudden invasion, the man stilled feeling blood coating Dwarven steel, the sharpened end jabbing painfully against his uvula causing him to gag and choke on his blood. Nori merely stared into dull green eyes waiting on an answer. The man continued to struggle fruitlessly before long, easing his efforts into nothing. Starved shoulders, slumping inwards as tears ran down his face.

"If you do not answer me, your fate will be worse than that of your leader. Do you understand?" Nori calmly stated, running his blade to the far corner of the man's mouth cutting the lip portion connecting it to his cheek. The dark haired man gulped as much as he could with Nori's blade still embedded in his mouth. "Is Sorin alive?" Nori asked, the one question that haunted everyone's thoughts day in and day out. That caused loved one's to become shells of their former self's that caused such suffering to people Nori considered dear and would do anything to protect them.

The man gurgled a, "y..shhe gash"

Nori removed the blade slightly and the man again voiced, "yesses...hg"

Feeling an unconscious weight lifting on his shoulders, only to be replaced by horror at the confirmation, Nori growled, "TELL ME. WHERE IN WEATHER HILL? WHO IS OROCARNI?"

The man simply closed his eyes in resignation. Nori immediately cut a deep gash seamlessly across the man's lips and deep into his upper cheekbone. The flesh slipping apart eagerly painting its human canvas a lovely red. Sobs ripped through the man's throat as Nori continued to do the same maneuver to his remaining cheek. While the man sobbed, Nori released him from his manacles and dragged his protesting prisoner towards the darkest corner of the chamber they were in. Bifur was already waiting there while Oin slipped out knowing he could not hold his insides with the following punishment.

Bifur grabbed the sobbing man's arms and brutally dragged him upwards while Nori chained his wrists to a pair of manacles with sharp metal edges melded within. The man's cries grew louder as the manacles closed around and pierced his sensitive flesh beneath. Soon, rivers of blood painted beautiful rubies in sluggish swirls on his skin. Bifur and Nori once again raised the man by chains, until he was hung above a spiked pole, garbed with the remnants of melded Orc weaponry.

"Will you answer?" Nori demanded. The dark haired man merely shouted insults at him in response. Nori smiled grimly and immediately released his hold on the chains. Bifur following suit. With gravity working in their favor the man keened in utter agony as his lower body was brutally impaled and torn apart by the spiked pole. His entire frame twitched and protested the harsh penetration, his keens were desolate and battled against the walls for release into the outside world. "Will you answer?" Nori repeated monotonously. Harsh cries were his only responses.

Again Bifur and Nori raised the man, a fountain of blood and torn flesh cascaded down once removed from the pole. And again, they released their hold on the chain, this time from a higher drop point, the man was impaled savagely. The spiked pole, with its circular array of molded orc weaponry, tore apart his arse and tore apart until the pole itself protruded from his lower abdomen cutting easily through his intestinal wall and sprouting outward. Intestines slowly creeping out of the opening along a great flood of red. Gurgling wails slowly died out as the dark haired man stared desolately at nothing but he himself could see.

The remaining man was trembling uncontrollably, blonde hair slick with sweat as he continued to push and try to meld his body into the very rock sequestering him prisoner.

"Now, will you answer my remaining questions, friend?" Nori cooed.

In the end, each Wild Man proved stubborn to break. But break they did, it so happened Nori had to get creative in his…'sessions' to do so. Blondie, as Nori had taken to calling him, would only whimper out excuses and reasons to be set free never answering what Nori wished to know.

"Who is Orocarni? Where in Weather Hill is Sorin?"

Nori had instead, forced Blondie into a compression position. Whereas his fellows were stretched and torn apart immediately, Blondie was fortunate…or unfortunate (depending on how one saw it), enough to be placed into a mechanical device that held one single iron bar connecting two crude, manacles with an inner lining of small teeth melded within.

"Who is Orocarni? Where in Weather Hill is Sorin?" Nori asked again, patiently.

The shackles and manacles themselves served a common purpose of connecting Blondie's hands, feet and neck into one compromising position. Hunching him in on himself. Blondie's head was positioned painfully to his knees in a fetal position. For hours Blondie remained in this position, steadily being forced to bleed out of his eyes, nose and ears.

"Who is Orocarni? Where in Weather Hill is Sorin?" Sighing in displeasure, Nori motioned for Bifur to grab a pair of dull, crusted pincers. Each time Nori asked and received no answer, the dull pincers moved in natural strokes. Rusted and dull as they may be, they served the purpose for causing the maximum amount of pain and eventually severing a digit or two. Each minute the crusted ridges grinded against bone, was one minute Blondie could use to answer….Yet the man refused.

It was time-consuming….dirty, vulgar work. Toe-less…Finger-less…Blondie never uttered a word besides a cry for mercy.

A minute before midnight , Blondie left the world of the living toothless , earless , nose-less…with a cry for mercy upon his lip-less mouth.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

The title 'SpyMaster' for the Line of Durin and the inhabitants of Ered Luin, was one beloved and hated. The Dwarrow appointed the title, walked a fine line between the Light and Shadow. It was an occupation many Dwarrows despised but understood the necessity for such a task. For one such as Nori, he walked the fine line with pride and a sense of duty for his King. He firmly remained in the Grey area, neither Light nor Shadow for one could never truly remain free without submitting to the other. To keep his immediate kin safe, the identity of the Dwarrow appointed SpyMaster, was kept secret. The only ones who know are the King himself and the Captain of the Guard. Any preferential treatment from either, could result in Nori finding himself impaled through a broad blade or at the mercy of a caved-in mine.

Nori patted down his new leather vest, having to change his clothes to get rid of the excess blood and distinct smell of blood from his immediate person. The guards spread out through the hallways leading to civilization, peered curiously as he walked past. The air was cold, no matter how many torches the Dwarves lit up, the draft of ice-cold air still invaded the living spaces within the mountain. Nori's eyes continuously observed the happening's around him, gaze focusing on the puffs of his own breath and dissipating into the torch light.

His dark gaze, lingered on the crafted pillars and ancient carvings of Khuzdul of his people. The film of memories coating his thoughts the deeper he walked into the mountain. Memories of another life in a land far away to the east. There was the city of Dale, its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale, peaceful and prosperous. For the city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth: Erebor, stronghold of Thrór, King under the Mountain and mightiest of the Dwarf-Lords.

Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of the fortress city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth in precious gems hewn from rock and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone. The skill of the Dwarves was unequalled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Ever we delved deep, down into the dark and that is where we found it, the Heart of the Mountain... the Arkenstone.

But the years of peace and plenty was not to last. Slowly the days turned sour and the watchful nights closed in. Thrór's love of gold grown too fierce and sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow...

Nori's face contorted into a painful grimace as images of fire, death and despair played behind his eyelids. A drop of cold sweat slowly began to form on his brow as the memories slowly grabbed hold over his consciousness.

 _"_ _DRAGON!" Prince Thorin bellowed._

 _It began with the winds of a hurricane….._

 _"_ _NORI! NORI MY LOVE WHERE ARE YOU!?" a Dwarrowdam with hitched skirts and fearful eyes ran through the battlements._

 _A river of Dragon fire swathed the earth below, smoke rises obscuring everyone's vision. Nori reaches a desperate hand out as he catches the attention of the panicking Dwarrowdam._

 _"_ _NATIA! NATIA GET DOWN! NATIA GET DOWN!" Nori screams, frustratingly pushing and shoving his way forwards. Desperately reaching a hand forward…_

 _A column of scorching red flashes in front of him, unbearable heat licks at his flesh and clothes._

 _Anguished screams fill his ears …crying out to him…._

Nori's heart slowly begins to batter against his chest in rising panic. Breaths coming in short, painful gasps and eyes wide open lost in memory of utter desolation. Nori's hand clenches above his chest, gripping the leather above where his heart palpitated thunderously. In an attempt to calm himself and chase of memories best long forgotten, Nori clenches his eyes shut whispering under his breath, " _Mahal, our almighty Father bless my soul for I am your devout servant and serve no other till the world is constructed a new. Mahal..."_

Nori slows down on his walk until he comes to a complete stop, he breathes in deeply through his nose and releases it out through his mouth in a loud gust of air. Slowly, the thundering palpitations in his chest quells and the memories dissipate from grand emerald halls of stone to earthly copper with embedded miniscule gold shavings.

With the rancid taste of dried saliva in his mouth, Nori begins his gait towards his beloved King.

 _Robbed of their homeland, a once mighty people brought low. Receiving healing aid and supplies from the GreenWood the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. Seeking refuge within the other Dwarven Kingdoms…only to be turned away like mere beggars at the front gate. The young Dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of Men. Setting an example for those few who survived the desolation._

 _But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he had seen dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave... and he never forgot_.

Before long Nori comes upon a large metal double-door entrance. Nodding to the Knight covered in heavy armor and a massive fringe of copper hair, to open the doors and announce his arrival to the King.

"Nori son of Cori, my Lord King." The guard, Gimli, Nori absently noted, announced. Nori walked forward when Gimli motioned for him to do so. Feeling weary, Nori ambled at a sedate pace mulling over his findings and theories. _'It's been a long day…it's bound to be an even longer night.'_

Facing the throne room, Nori bends at the knee keeping his gaze lowered. Waiting to be acknowledged by his King. His eyes trail through the throne taking in the finely carved metal work crested with the emblem of Durin. It was a modest throne, wrought from hardship and humble bearings. Impressive in its own right though third-rate compared to the throne of Erebor.

One slight Nori deems to fix in any form he could. For his King deserved Erebor and so much more…

"You may rise, Nori son of Cori." A deep, rich bass intoned. Nori did as commanded and waited for further instruction. "Gimli, you may retire for the evening. Shut the doors once you're through."

"Aye, my Lord King." Gimli gruffly stated, bowing low at the waist before about facing and leaving the room.

"Speak freely my SpyMaster. What have you found?"

Nori beheld his King in his humble bearings. He took in the modest jewels and beads braided into raven black hair, the heavy weight of responsibility and duty on broad shoulders. The well-hidden concern above his impervious brow, the honest compassion and warmth from his subtle smile and remorse over the fallen in his closely trimmed beard.

They called him 'The Beggar King', the Dwarrow before him couldn't be further from that. Strong and confident in his ability to lead and bare the heavy responsibility for a Kingdom placed upon him at a tender age, he had no need for a crown to assure obedience we followed him voluntarily, eagerly. Where King's ruled with fear and tyranny, King Thorin ruled with compassion, strength and most humbling of all, with the fierce desire to watch over his people.

 _'_ _I knew him as a Dwarrow before his status as Crown Prince and King. I love and respect him as my friend and true King.'_ He showed us how to live again, how to rise from the ashes into an immovable force as mighty as any mountain.

King Thorin's eyes shone like storm clouds, silvery grey and cobalt. Gaze observant, analytical, composed, irises expectant with the flood of crucial information he waited for.

"Approximately two weeks ago, one of our scouting Dwarven caravan's came across a suspicious group of Wild Men traversing the edges of Midge Water 675 miles from the boundary between the Bree-Lands and the Lone-Lands." Nori began. "When asked the reason for their invasion over our borders, the caravan was immediately under siege by the more hostile members. Needless to say, their actions proved too suspicious to ignore."

The King's Shadow. Durin's Pet Dog. The Captain of the Guard. Nori always knew where their King went, Master Dwalin was close to follow. From behind the King, hidden by shadows the massive, sourly Dwarf stood. Keen brown eyes boring into Nori's own dark ones. Master Dwalin's gaze was unwavering, scrutinizing, with the expression of one having to suck on a ripe lemon for an extended amount of time. Those same brown eyes, followed his every movement, taking special interest on the smudge of blood beneath his finger nails and the distinct indentations of holding a line of chain for too long. Master Dwalin made no grand gesture of noticing his current state of….presentation before the King, he merely inclined his head in recognition to his efforts in serving the Line of Durin. Acknowledging the devotion Nori gladly gave to his King.

Nori inclined his own in thanks before continuing on with his report. "Once the group of hostile Wild Men was brought under my…care…we came upon reliable information concerning the true purpose of their crossing the borders." King Thorin itched forward in interest. "It is believed, the Wild Men where hunting after an escapee from the Weather Hills. One of the men, after some 'convincing', explained that a rebelling group of captives managed to break free of their bonds and have been releasing others on their way to the Lone-Lands. This latest group of captives contained one individual of high interest not only to the Orcs…but to the Dwarves of Ered Luin." Here Nori hesitates, unsure of how to proceed.

King Thorin's eyes gazed into Nori's dark one's silently commanding for him to continue his report no matter the grave tiding's they may bring. Frozen pools of emotion lulled Nori in, enough so he continued on with, "When the name Sorin" King Thorin's eyes widened a fraction, Master Dwalin stepped closer into the light, "was mentioned, it was uncovered his captives were on their way to send him as a gift from an Orc Captain by the name of Yazneg, to the son of the Defiler, Bolg."

The King's gaze turned into a myriad of frozen emotions ranging from rage, disbelief and bone-weakening apprehension.

Nori watched the flames in the hearth curiously through hooded eyes. He pressed his folded hands to the small of his back, enraptured with the flames that crawled over the wooden logs and lapped hungrily against the air and stone walls.

"This is the first time we have received any credible information of his whereabouts in five years." He murmured.

"Aye, SpyMaster. Yeh done a great service to the Line of Durin. Fer'yeh bring us hope the young 'ne can be found again." Master Dwalin grunted, gratitude lacing his gruff voice.

"He has done more than that. Master Nori, there are no words I can use to describe the immense joy I feel having confirmation that my son still lives." King Thorin spoke as he gracefully rose from his throne and ambled forward down the steps. Steel-cobalt eyes alight with warmth and a small ounce of hope. He approached Nori and clasped him into a warm, thankful embrace. Leaving Nori to gape unattractively as the King he admired and followed without question, thanked _him_ over something any worthy Dwarf would have done.

Before anymore could be said on the matter, a rapid series of knocks rasping against the metal doors alerted them to the messenger guard waiting for entry. King Thorin released Nori and turned towards the metal doors, calling out, "Enter".

Immediately a red faced Gimli raced inside, bowing low at the waist before rising once again. "My Lord King, please forgive the intrusion. But Master _**Tharkûn insists on having an audience with you post haste. He comes with the bearing of one weighed down by grievous tidings, my Lord King."**_

"Escort Tharkûn here, Master Gimli. You have my gratitude for your immediate action." Gimli preened at the praise he received before bowing low and vaulting from the throne room in haste to gather the wizard.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

Thorin's gaze was intense, cold as the ice only found in Caradhras. A deep chill settled deep within his bones at Tharkûn's demeanor. Tharkûn was hunched over in on himself as he stared into the flaming hearth, leaning forward as if the very flames themselves could reveal all of the answers he seeks. The hearth only managed to highlight the worn face beneath a knotted, twig infested, grey beard dripping wet from the tears the heaven's themselves shed. Thorin's steel gray-blue eyes flashed with apprehension and a nagging worry slowly crawled up his throat. _'What could cause a Maia such frustration and fatigue? The fear creeping into his ageless eyes?'_

A side door to the throne room opened, revealing a confused and tired-looking Balin. Balin's once warm brown hair now sported striking snow-white strands , his youth slowly being chiseled away with the heavy responsibilities as the trusted Advisor to the King and having served as a Warrior in times of War. More wrinkles and deep leathery indentations stretched across his slowly sagging skin. Despite the slow-aging of Dwarrows, Balin was slowly displaying all of the hardship's he lived through his long life. For the past one-hundred fifty years, he has served Thorin well as a dear friend and Advisor. Balin's warm hazelnut eyes shown with a child's curiosity, endearing to all who gazed upon them. He was the voice of reason and contributor of knowledge for all who wished to be enlightened.

Balin has been present for it all. The Fall of Erebor, The Battle of Moria and the murders of Thror and Thrain. He served as witness and conductor to his union with his One, Thalia, and all those years ago. He was there when Thorin found out he was to be a father and helped keep him from losing his wits at the first cry his child released at birth. Balin, dear old Balin, held him as his sorrow threatened to drown him as his beloved wife left for Mahal's Hall's days after their son's birth, who helped sturdy him when Sorin was taken from him never to be seen or heard from again.

Until now…

Balin stood quietly to the side, studying Tharkûn with a puzzled frown.

"I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling along the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond." Tharkûn began. Thorin inched closer, standing on the Maia's side as he too gazed upon the hearth.

"I imagine they regretted that."

"One of them was carrying a message." Tharkûn reaches inside his travel worn robes, revealing a dirtied parchment folded in on itself.

"It is Black Speech. A promise of payment." Thorin frowned in disgust, leveling a foul glare at the offending piece of parchment in the Maia's withered hands.

"For what?"

"Your son's head."

Thorin, wide eyed, remained silent. Shocked eyes staring at the Maia in unveiled terror, the light from the hearth painting a silent despairing portrait of the King.

No one in the throne room made a sound, no one dared to move much less speak. Balin silently mulled over possibilities and various outcomes from revealing the true identity of who Sorin of the Longbeards is. Debating on wither or not it will ensure or cause his emanate death. Dwalin, a Dwarf of action, moved back and forth, wearing a trail on the stone floor as his pacing continued unperturbed. Nori cracks his knuckles repeatedly, fingers twitching to extract information needed to protect Sorin. Thorin sat down on his throne heavily. Foot tapping up and down as he tried to understand and form a strategy or something! To protect his missing son from harm.

Tharkûn opens up the parchment further, staring down at the hideous scrawl of Black Speech. Shoulders slumping with the weight of the world.

"There have been whispers…whispers in the dark…of a Necromancer in the far depths of Dol Guldur…Forming alliances of old with the Orcs of Gundabad and the Goblin's of the Misty Mountains. In my hands…I hold an order for the immediate capture and death of Sorin Thorinson. How such fell creatures know of your child…I know not…."

A wizened face peered from a straggly mane of wet grey tresses. Emerald eyes hooded and weighed down by countless centuries of strife, love and death. In a croak of old age but with the inner strength deep within the weary visage of the Maia, he revealed, "Rumors have spread far and close between…Bolg son of Azog has been seen searching for the Rings of Power…Forces of the Shadow look East towards the Lonely Mountain…Thinking, accessing the risk of waking the Wyrm…"

"There is no way inside the mountain…" Thorin spoke gripping his throne's arm rests tightly, his knuckles turning a sickly shade of white.

"No...Not unless you held a key. And held a map in Ancient Khuzdul in your possession."

"…..and do you?" Balin spoke then, quizzically.

"I have the map in my possession, gained it from the body of Thrain when I came upon him in the depths of Dol Guldur in my investigation of the ruins."

Sorrow was etched in the faces of the gathered Dwarrow, but the Maia firmly strode on. "The key, I fear, is in the possession of young Sorin. It was the same key Thrain bestowed on him before he set off to reclaim Moria. For safekeeping. The same reason you now hold Durin's Ring, Thorin."

Thorin rests his head in one of his worn hands, covering his eyes in an attempt to starve off the pounding headache and despair rapidly building within him. He draws a deep breath in, taking in the faint spice of the burning wood causing an intense itch to plague his tongue. Opening his navy coat, Thorin slips a hand into a hidden pocket, sliding out with a worn looking pipe and a small satchel of Old Toby Pipeweed. Loading small pinches of the dark emerald Pipeweed into the pipe's opening and smoothening it out.

"What is it you ask of me, Tharkûn?" Thorin asked before clamping his lips over the pipe and taking a flint stone out of his trouser pocket, with a small strike of the flint and stone, a spark erupted falling into the batch of Pipeweed. Tharkûn leveled a piercing, searching gaze at Thorin.

Thorin pulled on his pipe, breathing in the lungful of Pipeweed and holding it in for a moment before puffing the residue outward. The smoke curled around his aristocratic face as he awaited the Maia's answer.

"I ask you to ride out and reclaim your birth right. Ride out and strengthen our defenses in the East. Ride out and protect that which you hold dear."

Thorin gusts out short, contemplative bursts of smoke. With every puff, a soft crackling and sizzling fills the otherwise tense room. The rich scent of pine needles and Old Toby permeates the area.

"Yeh request of the sovereign that which many would consider ay' fool's hope." Dwalin growled, crossing his massive tattooed arms across his chest.

"….A fool's hope though it may be, it is a path we must hasten to take." Tharkûn smiled in grim sympathy, "I do not ask this of you lightly, I will venture with you to reclaim your homeland…"

"As a King to my people, it is my duty and obligation to do what is in the best ineptest for the Kingdom…" Thorin rises from his throne, puffing away at his pipe, while he walks towards the lone circular table with a glass bottle of wine and a handful of glasses; in the farthest corner of the room. Before the few, solitary windows in the whole of Ered Luin. Watching as the rain soaks the land into a near flood. "As a selfish Dwarrow, as a desperate Father…I will march to reclaim my Son first and foremost to the ruin of all others."

They rest in silence after his firm declaration. Tharkûn clenched his hands around his gnarled oaken staff and heaved a weary sigh. An air of anxiety surrounded the Maia as he silently debated on his next course of action in his attempted persuasion to reclaim the lost kingdom of Erebor. And therefore, having a stronghold in the East to defend against the hordes of the Shadow.

So deep in his thoughts, the Maia nearly missed what Thorin proposed.

"With a small company of loyal Dwarrow, I shall march to reclaim our lost homeland. With the sole condition" Thorin leveled a stern gaze at the apprehensive Maia, "you help in the efforts of locating my Son and ensuring his safety. Our primary goal is to rescue my Son, reclaiming a lost Kingdom from a Wyrm is last in my list of priorities. Is that understood, Tharkûn?"

Tharkûn smiled in relief before holding out a wizened hand to the King.

"We have an accord then, Master Oakenshield. We have an accord."

 **-§-**

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 **A/N:** New Chapter Upload for 'Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow' on 05/28/18

New Chapter Upload for AU 'Poikaer Captive in Shadow' on 05/29/18


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